


The strangest thing (let the storm rage on)

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: All/No Talk [9]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alexithymia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger, Anxiety Attacks, Bad British Humour, Billy Bones is skittish as fuck, Charles Vane is a patient man, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Control Issues, Crying, Depression, Dildos, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Falling In Love, Fear, First Time Together, Forest Sex, Friendship, Glimpses of Charles background story, Guilt, Healing progress, Inner Chaos, John Silver is a psychologist, Kissing, Loneliness, Longing, Loss of Control, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mention of various mental health diagnoses, Miranda Barlow is a psychiatrist, Ned Low is not a psychopath but a man in grief, New Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Social Anxiety, Stress, Therapy, progress - Freeform, psychiatric ward, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: A follow-up to "Just as terrified as you (talking optional)", "Alone in my chaos (pretty serious)", "All that exist (hardly ever comfortable)","Work in progress (God's little experiment)", "Never good enough (greedy demon)", "Tell me about him (a beacon in the darkness)", "Come, taste my emptiness" (strange is the new normal) and "Letting him near (she's right)" about Charles Vane and Billy Bones and their strange relationship. I recommend you read the other parts before this. We're going SLOW and there is both angst, sweetness and confused feelings.In this part, there's more mutual exploring - both mental and physical - between Charles and Billy, some greetings from Anne and Jack, a slightly offended cat namned Morrigan, lots of chaotic feelings and - and I can't believe I'm writing this - references to "Frozen". There will be another part. I realise I maybe should've put it in one piece with different chapters, but I didn't know where it was going and definately not that it would be this long, so you need to see this as CHAPTER 9, rather than part 9.Comments are always appreciated :)





	

“Hi, Billy. I’m Charles’ friend Anne and this is my boyfriend Jack.”  
“And I’m Charles’ friend too, in case you wondered.”  
“I think he gets that, Jack.”  
“Yeah, whatever.”  
  
Billy smiles. He’s sitting on the bed he refers to as “his”, since it’s been so long since he slept in his own flat, looking at his computer screen at the couple waving at him. The woman, Anne, has a bit reddish hair, green eyes and wears a ragged, brown cardigan and worn out jeans. Jack wears slim, black jeans and a black t-shirt with v-shaped collar. His dark brown hair is messy and falls in his dark eyes.  
  
“So, Billy, since you’ve been dating our dear friend Chaz, also known as ‘the muscled, latte making buffalo on two legs with whiskey voice’, for some time now, he thought it would be a good idea to present you to us, his partners in crime and mostly known as ‘if you’re looking for one of them, you’ll get the other one in addition.”  
“And just to be clear, Jack is mostly the one people are looking for and I’m the one in addition.”  
“You’re wrong, darling, but lets not argue about that and make us look even more stupid than we already do.”  
  
Jack smiles at Anne and she glares before looking back into the camera.  
  
“Alright, I’ll begin. I’m Anne Bonny, twentyeight years old and I work as a care assistant in a nursing home and as a volunteer at a shelter for homeless kids two nights a week. I’ve been told I eat for three in the mornings and it’s dangerous to expect any kind of good behavior from me before breakfast.”  
“And that’s no exaggeration, believe me. I’m thirtytwo, by the way and I’ve been living with her for fourteen years, so I ought to know. Never expect good behavior from her before her massive breakfast.”  
“And before my boyfriend, or partner in crime as I prefer to call him, interrupted me, I was about to tell you that if you talk to me after breakfast I can be quite nice. We’ve both known Charles for at about fifteen years or so.”  
“It really feels longer when he’s in a bad mood.”  
“Or talks about football.”  
“Which he refers to as soccer, by the way, that bloody yankee.”  
“But no one is perfect, Billy, so we have to forgive him that. After all, he has a kind heart.”  
“Even though he’s doing his best to hide it.”  
  
Anne and Jack are talking like one of them is an extension of the other. Like they’ve grown together so naturally they don’t even realise how close they are anymore. Billy can picture Charles with them, not like a third wheel, but a third natural part with another function. Anne smiles warm in to the camera.  
  
“Naturally, since we’re the closest thing Charles’ has to a family, we’ve been very curious about you. All three of us come from more or less shitty backgrounds, and like our latte buffalo, neither Jack or I has any family to speak of.”  
“At least no one we’ve met since we were toddlers or so.”  
“Right. So, when we found out that Charles was seeing someone, of course he thought we didn’t know.”  
“I was actually a bit affronted by that. How about you, Anne?”  
“Definitely. I mean, we’ve even lived with the guy, so how stupid does he think we are? It was insulting.”  
  
Billy can’t help but giggling a little. Their bickering, fast talking and natural way of hooking onto each others sentences is just adorable and silly. Jack scratches his head.  
  
“Charles hasn’t told us too much about you, Billy, but we know you’re dealing with some issues and that it’s difficult for you to just hook up and meet us, so this video is sort of our way to just say hi and make you ask yourself if it’s worth to not only be together with a latte buffalo, but meeting his two extremly annoying sidekicks as well, when you feel ready for it.”  
“Until then, and if it’s alright with you, we were thinking of doing some short films, just snippets, from our life with Chaz for you.”  
“Sort of a video diary, but with more drunken camera angles.”  
“It’s Jack who can’t handle the liquor, just saying.”  
“And Chaz. Never drink with Chaz, Billy. He’ll only end up telling extremely bad jokes and talking about obscure movies no one but him and Anne has even heard about.”  
“Maybe we’re scaring him now, Jack… Please, Billy, don’t judge our sweet buffalo because of his silly sidekicks. Jack, we really should turn the camera off.”  
“We should. Oh well, until next time, Billy, please remember we can be a lot more annoying than this.”  
“Is that supposed to be a good advertising for us, Jack?”  
“I don’t know anymore, but it’s good we’re not in the marketing business. See you later, Billy.”  
“Yeah, see you and take care!”  
  
The couple disappear from the screen but Billy’s still smiling as he shuts down the laptop. Charles asked them to do this, to help him. They did it to help Charles _and_ Billy. He takes up his phone and Charles answers almost immediately.  
  
“Hi, babe.”  
“Hi. Am I interrupting something?”  
“A boring sandwich that can wait. How are you feeling?”  
“Good. I… I saw the video you sent me. With Anne and Jack.”  
“Are you, are you alright with it? ‘Cause if it’s too much, then…”  
“I love it, Charles!”  
“Oh… In that case… They’re a bit annoying, but I haven’t seen it myself.”  
“They called you their sweet buffalo.”  
“Assholes.”  
  
Billy laughs a little.  
  
“How did you come up with this idea?”  
“Just… figured it’d be easier to think of meeting them in like five years or so, if you’re getting some commercial about them first. I can make more if you like.”  
“I would, actually. It… it helps, I think.”  
“Then I’ll make more. And, of course, you don’t have to like… comment or answer them or anything. Unless you want to. No one can see them but you.”  
“This really means a lot to me, Charles.”  
“You mean a lot to me.”  
“And you to me…”  
“Still seeing you on Saturday?”  
“As long as I don’t ge worse, but I feel better so…”  
  
He doesn’t dare to promise. Still so afraid to make other people disappointed.  
  
“I’m not counting on anything more than you feel you can manage, Billy. If I seem impatient, it’s not because I expect things to go faster, it’s just how I am, you know. Doesn’t mean I don’t think.”  
“I know. Listen, babe, I… They say I can leave for a short walk soon. I’m not dizzy anymore so if you’re up for it, maybe we could do that some day.”  
“Of course. I’d love that. And I feel kind of bad for your legs.”  
“Yeah, I’ll probably walk like an old man or a zombie. Or a Skyrim nerd going out for fresh air for the first time in a month.”  
  
Charles’ laugh. A sound that makes Billy’s heart ache a little. For the first time he’s not terrified, only scared.  
  
***  
  
The relief is just ridiculous. The happiness, the way his stomach flutters, his mind feeling like he’s just smoked some really good pot. Charles is crying, but he’s far from sad or worried. He wants to make a victory scream.  
  
Because Billy’s talking. Billy’s smiling. Billy’s joking and laughing. Longing for a walk with Charles. Calling him babe. And Charles knows that Eleanor was right. He loved her, but not like he loves Billy. And now he’s laying in his own couch, crying his eyes out. For the first time in more than two weeks, he thinks he can sleep in his own bed, not feeling so lonely he’s about to climb on the walls. And to be honest, it feels really good to give Jack and Anne some time on their own.  
  
His flat is dusty and, compared to the homey mess at Anne’s and Jack’s place, or Billy’s romantic and nerdy home, not very cozy. Charles looks at the almost naked walls, the small kitchenette with porcelain that doesn’t fit together and the lack of furniture. It hasn’t bothered him before, but now it looks depressing. Lonely. Crying here on the old couch, makes the relief mix with sadness and it’s actually exhausting. Things have changed so much and Charles has mostly focused on Billy and his issues, his discomfort and his weariness.  
  
He cries for a good while before he’s able to pull himself together. His flat is on the ground area and when he starts to clean up a little, a familiar face is looking at him through the window. Charles smiles.  
  
“Well hello, miss Morrigan. Haven’t seen you in a while. Have you missed me?”  
  
She has. Charles opens the window and the beautiful calico cat immediately comes inside, purring with her tail high and twitching. She buffs her head against him, meowing and nuzzling.  
  
“I almost thought you’d be mad at me for not being home lately, but I guess you’re forgiving me, huh? Yeah, it kind of seems so, miss. Do you want a treat? Let’s go and have a look, miss.”  
  
Charles keeps a small box with cat treats on the shelf over the stove and Morrigan knows that. She eagerly eats the offered bites and then goes back to nuzzle Charles’ hand and wrist, until he lifts her and she buffs his face instead. He has no idea why this beauty chose to be his friend and it’s funny, ‘cause he’s never been very interested in animals.  
  
When Morrigan decides it’s enough cuddles, she jumps up on the couch, folding her forelegs under the chest and keeps Charles company while he’s cleaning and listening to Behemoth. He’s dusting, hoovering, doing laundry and scrubbing the bathroom. After a couple of hours, he’s done and orders a pizza, takes a shower while waiting and receives a text message from Billy that makes his cheeks heat a little. Not because it’s dirty, ‘cause it’s not, but because he’s so ridiculously happy. The message says: _I can leave for half an hour on Saturday!!!_  
  
***  
  
“Take your time, Billy. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”  
  
He’s not ready. He’ll never be ready. He’s not had a panic attac this strong since coming to the clinic and his body’s shaking, drippling from sweat, his pulse working itself up to a level that feels like it’s physically trying to make a hole through his skin. The happniess, the anticipation is gone like it never was there in the first place. The room is spinning, the walls threatening to suffocate him.  
  
“Billy?”  
  
John Silver. Someone fetched him and the caretaker who’s kep Billy company, making sure he’s no left alone with the anxiety, raises from the floor, giving room for the psychologist. The man sits down beside Billy, talking with his calm voice while Billy is panting, feeling like he’s gonna throw up.  
  
“Do you feel nauseous?”  
  
He nods. Can’t talk and someone, possibly the caretaker, puts a bag in his knee.  
  
“You’re taking it from here, John?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Billy? John is going to stay with you here until the panic attac is over. I have to go back to the dayroom, but the door is open and you’ll not be left alone. I’ll getting your medicine. Okay?”  
“Is that alright with you, Billy?”  
  
He nods again. What else can he do? He’s lost his voice again. People he doesn’t know have talked to him and he was so happy for knowing he could have a walk. And now he can’t talk. John holds his hand, keeping just enough space not to intrude or be too distant and Billy wants to talk, wants to take control of his voice again and he makes a frustrated groan that ends up in tears.  
  
“Don’t push yourself, Billy. Not now. You have nothing to prove, not to me, to Charles or anyone. It’s always scary with panic attacks, but try to stay in the feelings. We’re facing them together and they’re not dangerous.”  
  
The gentle voice, the steady hand and the flavour from John’s aftershave keeps at least one piece of his mind left in the reality. The nausea was false alarm, thank God, but he’s still feeling a sharp pain in his chest whenever he’s breathing too deep and a small whine slips from his mouth.  
  
“Are you in physical pain, Billy?”  
  
He nods.  
  
“Could you show me where?”  
  
Fist against the chest.  
  
“Does it hurt when you’re breathing?”  
  
Nods. The door opens again and John says something about five milligrams. Someone’s squatting before him, holding a plastic cup with water and a pill. He takes it, but it hurts to swallow, it really fucking hurts and he’s whining from it. The person bringing the pill leaves and he’s alone with John.  
  
“You will soon feel a little better, Billy. Your breathing will hurt less, your pulse will slow down to normal and it will be easier to talk about it.”  
  
They sit in silence for a while, if high pitch breaths and wordless whines counts as silence. Billy can’t tell when the panic actually leaves his body, but his chest pains starts to decrease and the breathing goes calm. He sighs and tilts his head against the wall.  
  
“Are you still in pain, Billy?”  
“Not as much.”  
“Good. How does the breathing feels?”  
“Eaiser.”  
“Stesolid is often very effective when you have a panic attack. The muscles relaxes and your brain will get the signal that the danger is over and you can rest.”  
“I want to leave.”  
“Leave what?”  
“The ward. On Saturday. To see Charles.”  
“You think you can’t do that?”  
“I want to. But if I feel like this, then you’ll hold me here.”  
“It’s only Wednesday, Billy and just because you had a panic attack today, doesn’t mean you can’t see Charles on Saturday.”  
  
The pain in th chest is gone, so is the fear, but instead there’s a huge sadness inside him. Yes, he’s sad. Disappointed. The tears come as easy as if someone pressed a button and Billy clenches his fists.  
  
“I hate crying. Fucking _hate_ it!”  
“Are you unused to it?”  
“Yes. It’s just disgusting and don’t say it’s good for me!”  
“I wasn’t going to.”  
“Good. ‘Cause just because it’s so fucking good for others, doesn’t mean it is for me.”  
“You’re right. We react different and for some people, crying doesn’t make them feel better.”  
“I hardly ever cry and this is… I just want it to stop!”  
“It will, eventually. Try to compare the tears with headache or nausea. It’s just a physical symptom that will stop after a while.”  
“Thanks for not going all ‘let your feelings out’ bullshit on me.”  
  
John laughs a little and Billy has to smile through his tears as well. Then John goes serious.  
  
“Has someone told you that you should cry to let your feelings out?”  
“Yeah!”  
“More than one?”  
“A lot.”  
  
He almost snorts and his fists are clenching.  
  
“It was so fucking important to everyone! ‘Billy need to act on his feelings like other kids!’ ‘Billy fell from the jungle gym again and he didn’t make a sound, even though he had a concussion, what’s _wrong_ with him?’ I swear, the next person who tells me to let it out will get a fucking punch!”  
“It must be increadibly exhausting to have people watching your reactions like that.”  
“It is.”  
“Was it only adults, or kids too?”  
“Hated to play with other kids, especially when they heard my fucking teacher say I couldn’t cry, fucking asshole. Some kids made it to a game. _Let’s see if we can make Billy cry._ Very funny.”  
“That’s awful. Kids can be really cruel.”  
“I hate to see others cry too. Or laugh really loud, scream or anything that’s… big, you know. It’s like I’m choked.”  
“That is a very common reaction when you suffer from alexithymia. You remember we talked about that?”  
“Not recognizing feelings.”  
“Yes. If a kid is being told that he or she feels too much or too little or ‘wrong’ according to others, it can very easily lead to difficulties with recognizing and dealing with emotions. Both your own and others. If adults told a young Billy that he was abnormal for not crying and kids bullied him to make him cry, it is absolutely no surprise at all that you hate crying. It must be extremely unpleasant and stir up a lot of painful memories.”  
“But it’s not only crying. I hate other emotions too.”  
“Which ones?”  
“Anyone that gets too strong.”  
“Is there any particular emotion that’s worse than others?”  
“Crying, obviously.”  
“Crying is not an emotion, it’s a physical reaction to different kinds of stimulus. You can cry out of sadness, anger, relief, happiness or other emotions, but the crying in itself isn’t a separate emotion.”  
“Then the worst emotion is anything that’s too much.”  
“That makes sense. It’s never pleasant being forced to handle things that takes a lot of energy from us and then makes us feel bad. Especially not when we’re told that it is good for us, when it clearly doesn’t make us feel good at all.”  
  
The meds are clearing the way, but it’s John’s company that makes him walk again, leaving the panic attac a little bit behind. Not forgotten or denied, but in safe distance.  
  
“Are you still in pain?”  
“No.”  
“Very good. And your breathing? Is it tense or does it hurt?”  
“Uhm… No, I don’t think so.”  
“And that’s good enough, Billy. You don’t have to dissect every feeling all the time, because that will only make you exhausted.”  
“Thought psychologists were supposed to dig into peoples minds.”  
  
John laughs. It’s a calm, warm sound and it makes Billy smile too. John’s face seems made for big smiles and it’s hard not to be affected from it. In a good way.  
  
“Being a psychologist is a very interesting job, especially since it’s not possible to dig into someone elses mind if you’re going to help them. You have to be invited.”  
“And I have invited you, or what?”  
“That’s one of the questions I can’t answer, Billy. You’re accepting to let me trying to help you, but you’re the one in charge.”  
“Doesn’t feel like I’m in charge.”  
“The who is?”  
“Don’t know, but it isn’t me.”  
“If you were in charge, how would you like it to be?”  
“What? My life?”  
“Yes.”  
“Wouldn’t be in here, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t have that shitty alexithymia or social anxiety. Would be able to take a fucking walk with my boyfriend and I wouldn’t take meds that fucks up my dick!”  
“Sounds like very reasonable requests to me.”  
“Then why am I not feeling any better?”  
“Do you remember how you felt when we were talking about how you wanted Charles to be with you?”  
“No.”  
“The very mention of you wanting anything, gave you angst. Your body got tense, you couldn’t look up. Do you remember any of that?”  
“Maybe. Had my knees pressed to me?”  
“Yes. And now we’re talking again about something you want. Right?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Do you notice any difference in the way you react now, compared to when you were crouching on the chair?”  
“Yeah, I’m not crouching. So?”  
“Crouching like that is a sign of fear, of deep anxiety, of trying to keep yourself safe from overwhelming, unpleasant emotions. Today, in this very moment, we’re talking about something that a while ago was so uncomfortable to you, you felt the need to close physically and stop talking. The Billy who sits here now, isn’t crouching and he’s talking about what he wants.”  
“I guess so…”  
“And is the world falling to pieces?”  
“No.”  
  
***  
  
He feels guilty for almost five minutes before he decides to give guilt the finger. Or, in his case, the dildo. In the second drawer in his bedside table, Charles keeps a large, transparent jelly dildo he’s using frequently. Or has used, but not the last weeks. He keeps thinking about that non of this, the sickness, the meds or the visiting restrictions, is neither his or Billy’s fault and Charles misses fucking. Misses fucking, being fucked and everyting else he could do with Billy in bed.  
  
He strips, works himself open slowly before attaching the dildo’s sucker to the floor in his bedroom and lowering down. He close his eyes and starts riding, imagining it’s Billy who fills him, Billy’s muscles moving under warm skin, in sync with Charles’ moves. He’s grabbing his own buttocks, pretending it’s Billy’s large hands and moves faster. He loves being fucked hard, loosing control and give his body up to someone who can hold him down even if he should try to get loose. Billy could do that, no doubt and Charles’ orgasm builds of from the image of Billy overpowering him, thrusting hard and deep while digging into his buttocks.  
  
He comes harder than in what feels like months, without even touching his cock. Morrigan, that dirty girl, has spent the whole time sleeping on the couch and as Charles looks up, she gasps widely and starts grooming herself. Charles just bursts into a laugh. Here he sits, planted on a jelly dildo, with cum on the bedroom floor and a cat licking her butthole on his couch. Is there any point in trying to make some sense of his life right now?  
  
***  
  
“I was thinking about you earlier.”  
“Yeah? What about?”  
“How it would be to ride you.”  
“Charles!”  
  
Billy laughs, shakes his head and throws a glance towards the closed door. No one’s there to hear. He turns to the screen again, smiling almost cheeky and Charles’ blushes. This is funny and Billy decides to play along.  
  
“Was I good?”  
“You have no idea…”  
“How many fingers did you use?”  
“One, two, three and then…”  
“Then what?”  
  
Charles smiles wickedly and opens the bedside table. When he shows the transparent jelly device, Billy bites his lip.  
  
“Jesus…”  
“No, I’m not much for dead guys in dresses. I prefer alive, muscled men with dark blonde hair, tight jeans and British accent.”  
“Ha! I knew it! It’s a Brit fetish…”  
“Of course. You know us Americans… Deep inside, we long to be dominated by our mother country.”  
“I can get deep inside your territory and take back control of my rightful domains, if you want. Stick my flag in the ground...”  
  
They’re both half choking from laughter and Charles has tears in his eyes.  
  
“What the fuck, Billy…”  
“What? It’s British dirty talk: The Empire strikes back.”  
“Stop it! I’m gonna pee my pants!”  
“This is either a proof of that British word jokes are extremely funny, or that Americans are very easily amused.”  
  
Billy says it with a very exaggerated and posh British accent Charles has never heard him use before. He’s lived in the UK for more than fifteen years, but to hear his boyfriend’s alredy quite noticable dialect ten times sharper while looking all serious is so unexpected his stomach actually hurts from laughter.  
  
“Are you suggesting tea bagging, old man?”  
“My good, American _sir_. Tea time means we are having a blend, sensible cup of Earl Grey tea with exactly two flat teaspoons with sugar, a finger of full fat cream, an extremely dry biscuit and a conversation about the rain and gardening. This thing called teabagging sounds very debauched to me, indeed. It almost seems as if you suggest we should dip the bag long enough to actually make it _taste_ something!”  
“God, stop it! Morrigan is already judging me!”  
“Oh, so you’re having _girls_ over now? How very naughty of you. I feel _most_ discontent.”  
  
Billy’s fake pouting is gorgeous and Charles takes the laptop and moves out to the couch where Morrigan still lays, seemingly very pleased with having her favourite neighbour back. Charles places the laptop on the couch and takes Morrigan in his lap.  
  
“Oh, come here, my lady and say hello to my boyfriend.”  
  
He makes a waving move with Morrigans pad and she looks less than impressed. Billy waves back.  
  
“Hello, miss Morrigan. My, what a beauty you are. A pretty kitty for my pretty man… You better be nice to him now.”  
“She says she wants to meet you.”  
“Oh, really? What an honour. I look forward to meet you in person, my lady.”  
  
Charles manage not to ruin the moment by asking “when” and a knock on Billy’s door reminds them both about the world outside. Billy suddenly looks tired, as if he has used his last energy on this. But he’s smiling and Charles can’t make himself feel bad about it. Laughing, talking dirty and silly is something he’s missed far more than sex and for a short while, his lonely, boring flat felt almost cozy. His hand automatically goes to the screen, as if he could touch the man looking back at him.  
  
“I… God, I miss you so much.”  
“And I you…”  
“You’re calling before you go to sleep?”  
“Always.”  
  
***  
  
They’ve increased his meals a bit since he began therapy. Ned’s too. Billy mostly eats what’s put in front of him, but Ned picks in the meatloaf and mash.  
  
“Not hungry?”  
“Nah, not really. Nothing wrong with the food, thou.”  
  
Billy isn’t really comfortable eating with others, but Ned’s company and earlier Charles’ has made it easier. He doesn’t pay any attention to the other patients at all. For Ned it’s way harder. He feels watched and Billy can certainly understand how awful it is. He nods at the picking man.  
  
“Want me to change place? I can sit beside you instead.”  
“Is that alright with you?”  
“Of course.”  
  
Ned nods and Billy change seat. Eating seems easier for Ned if no one’s sitting in front of him and to be honest, it is for Billy too. One of the keepers comes to their table. An older woman Billy hasn’t noticed.  
  
“Maybe it’s better if you sit in front of Ned, Billy.”  
“Why?”  
“It’s more nice that way, don’t you think so, Ned?”  
  
She sounds like she’s talking to kids and Ned glares.  
  
“Don’t like havin’ someone starrin’ at me while I eat.”  
“Well, I’m sure Billy didn’t mean to stare.”  
  
Billy puts his fork down.  
  
“He didn’t ask me to move, I did it anyway. It’s fine.”  
“Mealtimes are supposed to be something to enjoy together, maybe have a conversation.”  
“No, it’s not.”  
  
Billy sounds harder than he meant and he looks the woman straight in her eyes.  
  
“I’s fucking food. We’re sitting here to eat, reload energy, not starring at each other or talking. You’re keeping us from eating.”  
  
He doesn’t know where it comes from. He’s never spoken out to a person in charge before, not like this and the woman just nods.  
  
“Just try to actually finish the meal, Ned, instead of picking in it. Alright?”  
  
Ned looks exasperated.  
  
“You want me to eat or talk?”  
“Eat.”  
“Then stop talking to me and let me eat.”  
  
The keeper leaves to the other side of the room and Ned picks up his fork again. He’s struggling with the food, clearly has no appetite and Billy’s isn’t very good either. But he cleans his plate out of old habit and then picks up his phone, playing a stupid game while Ned struggles with his plate. When he puts his fork down, he choke a burp. He’s ate almost three quarters of the meal, which is pretty impressive for him. Billy doesn’t comment it, just smiles a little and Ned smiles back.  
  
They both have to rest after lunch, although Billy thinks he’s done nothing but resting, but Ned easily feels sick from eating and Billy keeps him company in the sofa. He tells him about the video from Anne and Jack and that he’s having his first leave on Saturday. The ragged man smiles at him.  
  
“I’m happy for you.”  
“Thanks.”  
  
It’s nothing. For most people, being able to take a short walk with someone they feel comfortable with, is something to be taken for granted. At least that’s how it’s pictured. But since entering the clinic, Billy has began to question that picture a little. John Silver has showed him statistics about social anxiety, panic disorders, depression and so called “invisible” functional disabilites like high functional autism, ADHD and bipolar disorder. And Billy has to admit, that even if he’s made some attempts to search for self help guides online and even tried that hoax therapist, he had no idea just how common it is with mental illness, or that most people suffering from it can live lives that, from the outside, looks completely normal.  
  
_Everyone has their own secret wounds, Billy. They’re not the same and we’re all handling them differently, but we all have problems, difficulites and sorrows we want to keep hidden from others, because some wounds heals better if they’re seen and tended to by less people. To blend in is a survival instinct and can give us some rest from our problems as well, but the main problem with mental illness, is that it’s still seen as something we’re capable to avoid if we’re “good” and “makes an effort”. It’s also more scary with things w can’t make a clear timeline or map over. With things like pneumonia or a broken ancle, we can easily see the cause of it, how to trea it and how long it usually takes to heal. With mental illness, the treatment and the healing process aren’t that simple._  
  
John Silver has a way of breaking down Billy’s huge, chaos ridden cloud of confusion into something that almost seems like logic. Together with the medicine, it cuts enough panic and angst to give less panic attacs that last shorter than before. The very notion that he can take a medicine that actually works and, in the case with Stesolid, works fast if he starts feeling really bad, takes away a lot of pressure. It’s a new kinid of security, that he isn’t inevitably left to the mercy of his own mind.  
  
***  
  
Charles is spontaneuos by nature and one time he actually had a habit of working aginst any sort of schedules just for the sake of it. Jack, Anne and later Eleanor were the first to realise that if you wanted to make sure that Charles would fuck up any activity with others, the most effective way was to set a time and date.  
  
He takes a look into the rear-view window, adjusting his ponytail once more. He’s hardly spoken about his time in foster care or reform school with anyone but Billy, and what little he’s shared with him barely scrapes the surface. Charles has six half siblings he’s never met, spread across the US and the reason he could even move to England, is because of Eleanor and her father. Charles met Eleanor during her exchange studies, they got madly in love and since Eleanors father had business connections, Charles could come with her to London.  
  
The face starring back at him now in the mirror, is fifteen years older and a UK citizen since eight years with nothing to return to. His only really good memories from US is the time with Elle and the short period he lived with her in New York and worked as a flower deliverer, hotel cleaner and coffee shop assistant. He loved living with Elle, but hated to work endless hours for a lousy wage with little or no employment security and seemingly getting nowhere in life. Following her back to the UK and work in a restaurant owned by friends of Richard Guthrie wasn’t a hard decision.  
  
When he became a citizen, he and Elle hade already broken up and got back together a dozen of times and their relationship was, at best, strained. Charles has never been able to feel completely relaxed with someone he knows he owes something. The insecurity has been a natural part of him ever since the first time a foster mom told him to be grateful for not living on he street. Charles was very young when he learned that success stories about the poor or orphan kid who made it to the top against all odds, never mentioned how many things that had to work together in the right time and place to actually create that story. Most of his childhood and teens was nothing but a nightmare of insecurity and fear of punishments for not being good. And, as so many other dandelion children, Charles belongs to those who survived by protecting himself with a cocky attitude and sometimes his fists.  
  
The man in the mirror is thirtyfive years old, has used words instead of fists since he got out the foster care system and is desperately in love with a man who’s words have been partly trapped inside him for years. Charles Vane, who’s heard from so many people that he has no life goals – and to some part he admit they have a point – may not have something to show off in terms of career or family, but has never lacked life goals. Surviving, being independent, free enough not to have other people dictating his life has been his first and only priority. And then Billy, another dandelion child but different from Charles in so many ways, crossed his path and the sharp edges that used to hurt people, were softened so naturally Charles didn’t even notice until others did.  
  
_You’ve changed, Chaz._ Anne noticed. Jack noticed. Even Eleanor did. Charles strokes back his still wet hair in his usual half ponytail, leaving the lower part of it hanging loose over his shoulders. He knows he’s hot, that many people of both sexes think he is. But he no longer cares, no longer takes notice. The only gaze that matters, is Billy Manderly’s.  
  
***  
  
“Fuck, it’s cold!”  
“Wanna go back inside?”  
“Hell no!”  
  
It feels so good. The fresh air. Standing on the glassed balcony with only small airing windows on the top is nothing compared to the November wind outside. They’re walking trough the small coppice close to the clinic and Billy is practically turning his face up against it with his jacket open and a blissful smile on his lip. He’s dressed up a little, just like Charles. Not much, it wouldn’t be noticable to others, but Charles hasn’t seen him in his tight jeans with the rainbow belt in weeks, since belts are forbidden inside the ward. Billy’s smile goes wider.  
  
“You know, I feel a little like that fucking Disney movie… Frozen! When the sister sings that silly song about first time in forever or something.”  
  
Charles laughs.  
  
“The one that almost made you puke?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Does this mean I have to shove chocolate down your throat to keep you calm?”  
“No, I can shove a little pill down and skip the chocolate.”  
“How about kisses?”  
  
Billy’s answer to that is to grab Charles by the wrist and drag him close, take his face between his palms and kiss him like he’s starving for Charles’ mouth. And he is. The anxiety is still here, but not the panic and he doesn’t feel overwhelmed, only happy and a little anxious.  
  
There are butterflies in Charles’ stomach, desperation in his hands as he grabs Billy’s head to come closer and the cold surroundings, the restriced time they have together outside the ward, are all but forgotten. A small whimper leaves him, the amount of feelings Billy’s touch, scent and taste triggers inside him are more than he can handle. Charles has never felt like he’s about to burst from unspoken words, from unnamed feelings and he’s only human. He has tears in his eyes and fear is cutting his throat from words.  
  
When they part, Billy sees so much fear, hope, desperation and care in Charles’ face, he’s momentarily stunned. He sees the naked loneliness, the confusion and turmoil in the gaze and Billy knows, with absolute certainty, that he can’t leave Charles alone in that chaos. He cups Charles’ chin, stroking the lower lip with his right thumb.  
  
“I meant what I said when you told me you…”  
  
_When you told me that you love me._ He bites his lips, it’s hard to continue and Charles looks so vulnerable, so desperate for a steady ground, Billy’s own fear isn’t strong enough to come between. He uses all the courage he can muster, looking right in the blue, teary eyes.  
  
“I love you, Charles. You’re the strangest, scariest and most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me and if I wasn’t on meds, I’d probably freak out now, but no matter if I’m on meds or not, I really, _really_ love you, so please don’t give up on me.”  
  
He has no control of the turmoil in his head, in his heart, but there’s something stronger than fear, chaos and confusion pushing it’s way through him right now. The man in front of him is the one without words, only his unsteady breath can be heard as they melt together, surrounded by fucking trees and to hell with half an hour because now’s not the time to look at the clock.  
  
***  
  
“We agreed half an hour…”  
“But I called. And we stayed within the coppice.”  
  
Billy’s holding his hand almost in an almost defiant way. Charles is worried the man and woman in front of them, John Silver and Miranda Barlow, who're on weekend duty, wont see what he’s seen the last hour. Billy’s eyes are more awake then they’ve been in weeks, his cheeks has a heatlhy blush from the fresh air – and possibly from other things as well – and his voice is more steady than asking. Doctor Barlow seems almost amused, despite the extra unpermitted fifteen minutes.  
  
“Well, did you have a nice walk?”  
“Yes. I felt really good the whole time.”  
“That’s wonderful.”  
  
John Silver’s smile is genuinly happy and Charles decides it’s maybe too early to worry about Billy being locked up and not allowed visits. Doctor Barlow clears her throat.  
  
“We’re not restricting your time together out of principle, neither in here or outside and we’re very glad you called us, but since we have a medical responsibility, I must ask you not to do this again.”  
“But since you seem to feel good, even better, perhaps we can start to increase it a little earlier. What do you think, Miranda?”  
  
Doctor Barlow nods at her smiling colleague and then turns to Billy.  
  
“I think you’ve shown that you can handle it in company, so what would you think of having permission for half an hour outside every other day in company instead of twice a week ? It can be with Charles or someone else, as long as we know who it is, when you’re leaving and you have your phone with you.”  
“But I don’t know anyone but Charles that could go with me.”  
  
Charles quickly goes through his working scheadule.  
  
“Does it have to be the same time?”  
  
Both the doctor and the psychologist shake their heads and John Silver smiles again.  
  
“I think it’s enough if you make sure to tell the staff when and where you’re going before you leave, and that you have your phones on. _If_ you keep to the time _limit_.”  
  
Doctor Barlow nods.  
  
“And we understand how frustrating it is to not getting to exercise when you’re used to it, Billy, and there’s no wonder you’re longing for another environment. But as long as you’re staying here, we have the responsibility for your well-being and small steps is vital for your recovery.”  
“Of course, Charles can still come here even if you’re not going for a walk.”  
  
Billy looks at the watch on the wall and John Silver nods.  
  
“You still have about fortyfive minutes and it’s time for tea. Why not have a cup and wind down a little?”  
  
***  
  
Charles gets a text from Anne, asking if he wants to have dinner at their place and he happily accepts. When he’s leaving Billy, the butterflies has spread from his stomach to every inch of his body. He’s taking the bus, unaware of his distant, sappy face expression and he constantly has to hold back tears and keep his smile from going too wide.  
  
His mind is occupied with Billy’s mouth and hands. The taste of his tongue, the skin on his neck and his cock. Billy’s lips around his own cock and the giggles and moans they both tried to muffle, when thinking about the risk of being discovered by some innocent jogger. Thankfully, no one seemed to have seen them and netiher angst or meds destroyed the moment. Charles’ secures the last hours in his mind, determined to not have them them turned into something partially painful. He needs it. Needs to keep the picture of Billy, free, brave and strong, alive for as long as possible.  
  
The words. It’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing he’s allowed himself to picture and until next stumble or backlash that both he and Billy know might come from this amount of emotions, Charles mind repeats the words no one has said to his face before. _You’re the strangest, scariest and most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me and I really, really love you._


End file.
